


The Good Hurt

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bits of plot but plenty of porn, Drinking, Drunken sex, FYI this plot will get more kinky, Friends to Lovers, Light Masochism, M/M, PWP, Painplay, some D/s themes, some dirty talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants something from Greg, and Greg is more than willing to give it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Hurt

The rain had stopped a few hours ago but the streets were still wet and shiny. John, his arm wrapped around Greg, was steering the two of them around puddles as they walked. Their silhouette had four unsteady legs and two heads of uneven height.

‘You’re a lightweight,’ Greg said for the forth time. ‘An itty bitty lightweight. Didn’t they teach you drinking in the army?’

‘They did,’ John said. ‘I think they made me immune.’

‘Shame,’ Greg said. ‘Left here, second door down.’

They turned down a street that, to Johns eyes, looked much like the street they had just left. Somebodies cat hissed at them as they passed. 

‘Yeah, this is it,’ Greg said. ‘Got it after the divorce went through. I quite like it, actually.’ 

John could see why. The house looked freshly painted and the front door was large and dark green, with an ornate golden handle. There was a tiny balcony above main downstairs window. It was overflowing with potted plants.

‘It looks good,’ John said.

‘It _is_ good,’ Greg echoed. ‘Small though. But size isn’t everything, eh?’ 

Greg burst out laughing and John joined in, ignoring how his stomach clenched at the innuendo. He knew that he’d ask Greg tonight. Instinct was telling him that it was the right moment to make his move.

And Greg didn’t remove his arm from around his shoulders as he fumbled his keys before unlocking the door. That seemed a promising sign. 

‘Come in, come in. I have food. And tea if you don’t want anymore booze.’

‘I would actually love a ham sandwich, if that’s ok,’ John said. Greg led him by the hand through one dark room into a slightly lighter one. He flicked on the light and John winced as every reflective surface in the kitchen stabbed him in the eyes. 

‘I have ham,’ Greg said, releasing his hand to rummage in the fridge. ‘And… I’m sure I have bread somewhere… yes. Bread.’

He held up a loaf of bread and a small plastic bag containing ham, grinning widely. John felt a sharp stab of longing followed by an equally strong stab of hunger. He’d been drinking on an empty stomach and the sight of white bread was making him salivate. 

‘Gimme,’ John said. ‘So hungry.’ 

They made the sandwiches together, in silence, with the kind of awkward concentration that only the drunk could attain. Greg passed John a knife and the butter. John silently relished in how domestic it felt. 

Even drunk and lit up by the harsh kitchen lights, John enjoyed looking at Greg. His salt and pepper hair was heavy on the salt, which only helped to emphasize the tan of his skin.

‘Thanks,’ John said, stuffing his badly cut sandwich into his mouth. ‘God, I needed that.’ 

‘Mhmmm,’ Greg said. ‘Didn’t even realize I was this hungry.’

‘That’s how it happens,’ John said. ‘Medically speaking-’ 

‘Uh! No talking about work, we agreed. If you talk about doctoring I’ll talk about paperwork and then we’ll be damned… no work talk.’

‘Right, right,’ John said. ‘Can we sit and eat, though? The light here is making me feel hung over already.’

‘Of course,’ Greg said. ‘What kind of host am I? My mum would be horrified, you know…’

He put his hand on the small of Johns back and led him into the room they’d passed through previously. With the lamps on a small living room was revealed, complete with TV, battered lounge, bookcase and table piled high with case files that Sherlock would’ve dismissed as uninteresting. 

John and Greg sat on the lounge (which grunted under their combined weight) and ate. It was a small lounge, a perfect excuse for Johns thigh to remain pressed up against Gregs.

‘I don’t know why we don’t do this more often,’ Greg said at last, dusting crumbs off his knees. ‘You’re good company. It’s good to see you without Sherlock around all the time. He’s a good bloke but he can be a bit-’ 

‘Look, I _know,_ ’ John said, keen not to become sidetracked by Sherlock. ‘I do know. He kept dragging me off, so it took ages for me to notice what good guy you are, you know?’

Greg threw his arm around Johns shoulders and squeezed. 

‘You’re my man, John Watson. And I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk.’

‘Good,’ John said, letting some seriousness leak into his voice at last. ‘I’m glad. I’ve been thinking about this.’ 

‘About what?’ Greg said, half casual and half flirtatious. ‘About being my man?’ 

‘Yes,’ John said frankly. ‘Yes… I have.’

‘Oh.’ 

Greg turned to face John. The smallness of the lounge meant there was very little room between them. John was acutely aware of every place his body was touching Gregs. 

‘But I heard you saying to Sherlock once- you were saying you weren’t gay.’ 

‘Bloody hell,’ John said. ‘Has nobody ever heard of bisexuality? You were married to a woman but I know for a fact you’ve slept with men before.’

‘Right,’ Greg said, clearly slightly flustered. ‘Sorry. I’ve never really been able to tell if people are- wait, how’d you already know that much about my sex life?’ 

It was now Johns turn to look flustered. He shrugged slightly, careful not to dislodge Gregs arm from around his shoulders. ‘I might’ve asked Sherlock what he’d deduced about you… just the basics. I swear. Just that you were into men too. Nothing, you know- nothing weird.’ 

‘ _Nothing weird?_ You asked Sherlock Holmes for dating advice, John.’

This ludicrous statement hung in the air between them for a moment before the tension cracked: John failed to suppress a giggle, then Greg snorted, then John was laughing fit to brake a rib, leaning into Greg for support as Greg wiped a tear from his eye.

It was one of the best laughs John had ever experienced. Fuelled by nervous energy and drunkenness it seemed to go on and on until he could hardly breathe and Greg was clutching his knee and calling for a truce. 

Slowly they began to breathe evenly again, their chuckles fading into nothing. 

‘Oh god,’ Greg sighed. ‘I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in months.’ 

‘Good, wasn’t it?’ John said.

Greg went still beside him. They had somehow moved very, very close to each other. Johns nose was nearly brushing Gregs, and Greg still had one arm around his shoulders and a hand on his knee. John could smell beer as they exhaled, only moments apart. 

‘Yeah,’ Greg said, his voice low and rough. ‘That was really good.’ 

John tilted his head as Greg leaned forward. Their mouths met once, a chaste but firm press of lips. John felt Gregs stubble catch against his own for a moment and his heart clenched in response. 

‘Come on,’ John said against Gregs lips, eyes half closed. ‘Come on.’ 

Greg pushed John backwards onto the lounge with both hands. It wasn’t nearly large enough for both of them but Greg hunched over and John bent his legs. They managed, and Greg kissed Johns mouth open with a moan. John tasted beer, and bread, and ham, and knew Greg must be tasting the exact same thing. 

He slid his arms around Gregs waist, pulling him closer. Gregs weight pushing him down into the lounge was intoxicating. John felt the urge to be held, crushed, to be fucked deep and hard rise up in him.

Even drunk Greg was a brilliant kisser. He swiftly found how to draw a moan out of John by dragging his tongue in a certain way, by rolling his hips forward just so. But John knew that he wanted more than anything-

He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to gasp out the words- ‘Bite me.’ 

Greg did not hesitate. He took the flesh of Johns bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, pulling forward a little. Johns eyes slammed shut as he moaned. The pain shot bolts of light through him, making his hands clench and unclench against Gregs waist.

‘You’re really into that,’ Greg said, between rougher kisses intercepted with sharp nips. ‘Can I bite you anywhere?’  

‘Yes, god yes.’ 

Greg turned Johns head to the side, exposing his neck to his mouth. John could feel their denim-encased erections rubbing together. His skin was tight with anticipation as he waited for Greg to choose a spot.

Greg chose. He took the skin at the base of Johns neck between his teeth and held it for a moment, then bit down. John cried out. The pain was momentarily shocking- he could feel the imprint of each tooth- and then he moaned, because Greg did not let go, was tugging gently at the skin and rolling his hips against John at the same time. 

‘Oh fucking hell,’ John chocked out. ‘Oh god, like that. I don’t think I’m going to last. Oh god.’ 

‘Don’t last,’ Greg said, releasing his neck. ‘We’re drunk. We can do this again and again sober. And that’s a promise.’ 

‘Fuck. Ok,’ John panted. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should bring lube or-’

‘Right,’ Greg said. He pulled away and hurried towards his cluttered desk, where he pulled open a drawer and started searching through it. ‘I know I had some… yes. Thank fuck.’ 

John caught the tube thrown to him in one hand as he used the other to undo his fly. Greg watched him, still standing beside the desk. His erection was a clearly visible bulge through his jeans. 

‘Get moving,’ John said. ‘Pants fucking off.’ 

Grinning, Greg undid his belt and fly before stepping out of his jeans and pants in one surprisingly coordinated movement. His cock was almost as thick as Johns and notably longer. John let his eyes linger in unabashed appreciation.

‘Over here,’ he said. ‘I want you on top of me again.’ 

‘You like a bit of rough,’ Greg said, his cock bobbing as he walked.

‘I like quite a lot of rough, actually,’ John said.

‘Oh really?’ 

Greg straddled Johns hips and pressed his hands into his shoulders. They were both still half-clothed. John passed the lube back to Greg, having attempted to warm it between his own hands. Even so Greg winced as he squeezed some onto his palm. 

‘Both of us in my hand,’ Greg said. ‘Yeah?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

They shifted in the confined space of the lounge for a few moments before lining up properly. Both of them gasped as their cocks bumped heads. Greg bent his head down and kissed John, open-mouthed and filthy, as their hips started to move in sync.

‘Hand,’ John gasped out. ‘Tight.’ 

‘Can do,’ Greg said. 

His hand was large and calloused around the fingertips but soft in the center, wet with slightly chilled lube. And his hand was large enough to wrap around both their cocks at once. 

‘Oh fuck,’ John said. He pushed his hips upwards, biting his lip over the indentations Greg had already left.

Greg set the pace, pushing his hips forwards but down, grinding John into the lounge at a relentless pace. The lounge had never been intended for this kind of treatment, and it groaned and shook beneath them. Gregs hand was perfectly tight, a wet hot vice holding them together, leaving just enough room for him to. 

John watched as Gregs cock leaked pre-come until it was dripping on to his own. He’d never seen anything like it, and felt his balls drawing up towards his body. 

‘Later,’ John chocked out, ‘I want you to fuck me h-harder than this, right through the fucking mattress, ok? Oh god. I want, fuck- I want you to hold me down. Want to be fucking helpless. W-Want you to w-wreck me.’

‘Oh fucking _Christ,_ John,’ Greg moaned, and he came, hot lines of come splattering over Johns shirt. John held him and watched him, his open mouth and closed eyes, eyebrows pulled together as if in pain. John almost forgot about his own aching cock as he watched Greg fall apart on top of him.

Gregs head dropped for a second and he panted, wrung out from the force of his orgasm. But he only rested a second before he moved his hand again, slamming his fist down around Johns cock with almost frantic energy. 

‘Can’t believe you said that,’ Greg chocked. ‘That was the hottest fucking thing- I want to see you come. Fuck, come on.’ 

John was gasping, mouth wide, hips responding to every one of Gregs hard pulls by pushing back with equal force. He had one hand free- he slid it under his shirt and grabbed his own nipple. Greg watched, eyes dark. John pinched it hard between two fingers and then twisted. 

‘Kiss me again,’ he managed. 

Greg did. And it was enough- the tightness of the hand round his cock, the sharp pain from his pinched nipple, and Gregs tongue and lips pressing his mouth open, consuming him. John came, his legs shaking uncontrollably beneath Greg, his vision black.

‘Oh fuck, Greg, fuck, fuck, fuck…’ 

John felt his cock pulse three times before it began so soften. Both their shirts were sticky messes. They were breathing hard, and John could feel sweat in his underarms and around his naval.

For a few minutes there was nothing but their breathing, and the undisturbed silence of Gregs house around them. 

‘Stay the night,’ Greg said. ‘You can sleep and shower here. I’ve got work in the morning. And by bed’s warm.’ 

‘You don’t have to convince me,’ John said. ‘I have absolutely no desire walk around in a shirt covered in come.’ 

Greg laughed, then kissed John on the mouth, quickly and almost self-consciously. John leaned up to recapture the kiss, letting Greg set a slow and gentle pace. He felt as relaxed as if he’d had a long massage.

‘I want to stay,’ John said gently between kisses. ‘I really did, right from the start.’

‘Good,’ Greg murmured. ‘Good.’

Greg broke the kiss and climbed off John, then cracked his neck, shoulders and back with a self-deprecating wince. ‘Not a young man anymore.’ 

‘Neither am I,’ John said, staggering to his feet and stretching himself out as if he’d been crammed inside a small box for hours. ‘My shoulder won’t like me in the morning. Worth it, though.’ 

Worth it was an understatement. John could hardly feel the floor under his feet. 

Greg smiled, took John by the hand and led him upstairs. They stripped, throwing their clothes directly into the wash. Greg cleaned his hand and John went to the loo, glad to piss out some of the beer he’d consumed. 

There was very little floor space in Gregs bedroom- a wardrobe, a double bed and a bookshelf took up almost the entire room. For a moment John took a look at the books. They were mostly on subjects John had already learnt more about from Sherlock: forensics, criminal psychology, British law. John spotted a few biographies too. 

He climbed in under the covers and sighed, overwhelmed with exhaustion. The mattress was exactly the right firmness for his shoulder, which was a minor miracle. Greg turned returned from brushing his teeth, turned out the light and joined John, his warmth adding to Johns comfort and overall sleepiness. 

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Greg said, ‘but I think I’m going to sleep like the dead for about five hours now.’ 

‘Good,’ John said, sliding an arm over Gregs bare stomach. ‘Me too.’

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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